


A Second Glance

by TriaKane



Series: Designated Hitter [3]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Could feel like a Mary Sue but it's Eliot!, Crossover (more of a use of a character from The Rundown), F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Immortal OFC, Oh um quite a bit of sex, Use of movie lines - mostly on purpose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 20:57:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4277670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriaKane/pseuds/TriaKane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After spending the night together getting to know each other in lots of ways sexually, Eliot and his new friend decide to spend the week together and get to know each other in different ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Second Glance

**Author's Note:**

> OFC is an immortal who is telepathic.
> 
> This is an immediate sequel to [First Impressions](http://archiveofourown.org/works/313339). It picks up the story when they walk into the diner.
> 
> Thanks to Lyn for the beta! Still looking for a alpha reader. Please. :) tria.kane11 at gmail dot com

The diner was surprisingly clean and cool when we stepped inside. The smell of coffee was strong in the air; I hoped it was good. I took off my sunglasses when the waitress came up to seat us.

“Booth or table?” she asked.

 _Booth,_ I heard him think. Without turning, I answered, “Booth.”

She led us to a booth by the windows. I automatically took the seat with my back to the door, knowing without needing to hear him say it, that he wanted to sit facing the door to watch for trouble coming head on. I generally liked to be surprised by trouble, but then again, I had the advantage of being immortal. My mind was on overdrive, tuned into his thoughts.

“Coffee?” the waitress asked as she set the menus down in front of us. I looked at her name tag, Rhonda.

“Yes,” we both answered.

He glanced through the menu while I pretended to fuss with my phone. This was a first for me; I usually left my typical ‘fight and fuck’ companions asleep while I slunk out at daybreak to avoid any communication. This man was different... Eliot. I wasn’t sure what it was about him, but I wanted the chance to figure it out.

Setting down the coffees, Rhonda, pulled out an order pad. “What can I getcha?”

“Veggie omelet with cheese, wheat toast, no butter, small orange juice,” I ordered.

Eliot looked at me, closed the menu and said, “Same.”

He added a little cream to his coffee and watched me stir two packets of sugar into mine. We smiled at each other like strangers who hadn’t just spent last night fucking our brains out.

“So,” I finally said, breaking the silence, “do you live here in L.A.?”

“No,” he shook his head, “just visiting. You?”

“No, visiting also.”

Rhonda brought the OJs over.

“I don’t usually do this,” I said sheepishly.

“Have breakfast?” he said with a smile. 

I smiled back at him. 

“Usually not with someone I picked up in a bar.”

“Thought I picked **you** up.” He smiled again as he winked. 

Yes, there was definitely something I liked about this man.

“Was that before or after you kicked that guy’s ass?” 

He laughed and took a sip of his coffee.

“You’re good with your hands,” I commented, totally tuned in to his thoughts, hoping for some insight. 

“Just my hands?” 

And he took me completely off guard when his left eyebrow quirked up. I felt my pulse quicken, the witty banter was turning me on.

I laughed huskily, licking my lips and answered. “No, you’re pretty good with other things, too.”

Rhonda interrupted us, bringing the food.

I took a bite of my omelet, which was surprisingly fresh and fluffy, but found it hard to continue. His lips have drawn my attention, and I can’t think of anything other than the way they felt on me last night. 

“How long are you going to be in L.A.?” I asked, picking at my toast.

His blue eyes studied me and I steadfastly maintained his gaze. His thoughts were fast and furious, more images than actual thoughts, but he seemed to be deciding.

“A week or so,” he finally answered, setting his fork and knife down. “You have somethin’ in mind?”

I smiled a slow, wide smile. “Many things.” 

I can feel his interest and it fuels mine. 

“What would you think about spending the week with me?” I asked.

He cocked his head, studying me further. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for in my eyes, but apparently he saw the right thing.

“Sounds good,” he answered before picking up his coffee cup and taking another drink.

“Good,” I said, and tried to hide my smile behind my glass of OJ. 

“‘m stayin’ at the How--” he started, but I cut him off.

“Would you mind if we stay at my hotel?” I asked quickly. “I have a lot of stuff at my real hotel.” I shrugged apologetically, hoping he understood.

He did, shrugging it off like it wasn’t a big thing and we continued breakfast.

***

After breakfast, we caught a cab outside the diner, and Eliot gave the driver the name of his hotel. It was a mid-priced chain hotel, not flashy but clean and efficient. I waited in the cab while he went in to gather his belongings and check out. I watched him walk away and noticed something as he disappeared into the hotel. Interesting.

I pulled my phone out and called my hotel.

“Beverly Hills Enclave, how can I direct your call?”

“Front desk.”

“One moment.” 

Ten seconds later, my call was answered.

“This is Stephanie, how can I help you?”

I remembered her from the day I checked in. “Stephanie, this is Lynae O’Neil.”

“Ms. O’Neil, what can I do for you?”

“I’ll be returning to the hotel soon and will need to pay the cab.”

“We’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you. I also have a guest joining me; please have two keys ready,” I requested.

“Very good,” Stephanie said. “I’ll also inform your butler.”

“That will be great. And perhaps some fruit and cheese around three. A little wine, too,” I told her, thinking ahead.

“Very good. Will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you, Stephanie.”

I put my phone away and told the cab driver where we were going next. I was a little nervous about taking Eliot to my hotel. I wasn’t used to that feeling, but the Enclave was an expensive hotel and I had a suite. I wondered what I’d tell Eliot if he asked how I could afford it. It had been a long time since I’d felt like I needed to explain myself to anyone.

A few minutes later, I turned to watch Eliot walk out the automatic doors with a small duffle bag.

“That’s all you have?” I asked with a laugh.

He shrugged and slid in beside me.

“Where to?” he asked.

“I told the driver,” I responded, feeling his eyes on me, but I didn’t meet them.

I could hear the questions running through his mind as we drove from his downtown hotel to mine in Beverly Hills. Pulling up outside, I finally met his eyes. 

“It’s a little more...” I said, shrugging.

“Yeah,” he said under his breath.

The doorman opened my door, “Welcome back, Ms. O’Neil.”

“Thank you, Frank,” I answered. “Please tip the driver twenty percent.”

“Of course,” he replied.

Eliot waved off a bellman, carrying his own bag. I could feel the questions firing furiously through his head.

“Ms. O’Neil,” Stephanie greeted me once we were inside, “here are your keys. Everything else is arranged.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the keycards and continuing on to the elevators.

I turned as I entered a waiting elevator, and saw an unreadable expression on Eliot’s face. I slid the keycard across the reader and pressed the button for the penthouse. 

The suite door closed with a soft click and I dropped the keycards on the table. If I hadn’t been aware of him, I would’ve wondered if Eliot was still with me. I watched him slowly walk around the living room, setting his bag beside the couch.

“I’m gonna,” I started, waiting for him to meet my gaze, “take a shower, wash the city off.”

I turned in profile and pulled off my halter top, tossing it in the general direction of the closet.

Making sure I had his attention, I asked, “Wanna come?” 

“Hell yeah,” he said, winking and following me into the bathroom.

***

I stood under the shower and watched him undress. He was already half-hard and I could barely wait to get my hands on him.

He slipped in behind me and pulled me to him. I felt his hardness against my ass and hummed in appreciation and anticipation.

“Mmm.”

I turned around and his hands cupped my breasts.

“Are you a breast man?” I asked playfully.

“I’m a breast man when they fit perfectly in my hands and the nipple rises up to meet my mouth.” He leaned down and kissed each nipple, they harden further under his attention.

“Or are you an ass man?”

He reluctantly released my breasts and slid his hands down my back, cupping each ass cheek.

“I’m an ass man when it’s round and firm and squeezes nicely.” He teasingly squeezed each cheek, smiling the whole time.

“Or maybe you’re a leg man?”

He slid his right hand down my leg, lifting it behind the knee. I gripped his biceps to hold myself steady as I felt his cock rubbing against me.

“I’m a leg man when they’re long and muscled and spread at my touch.” His hand slid under my thigh, his fingers stroked the tender flesh between my legs.

“And wrap around your waist?” I asked breathlessly.

“Oh yeah,” he said, hoisting me up as if I weighed next to nothing and pushing me against the cool shower wall. I wrapped my legs around him as naturally as if I’d been doing it for a century. He thrust against me, his cock sliding against my pussy, teasing.

“Bed,” I requested.

“Uh uh,” was all he said before he gripped his cock and guided it inside me.

“Oh, oh...”

It had been hours since he was inside me and I was so ready for this. I clung to his shoulders and held on while he thrust into me. It was good, so good, and then it was amazing. His thumb was pushing against my clit, rubbing it in just the right way and I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t... 

“Oh... fuck, fuck, fuuuhh...” I groaned as I came. He continued to slide in and out of me, riding out my orgasm. 

Opening my eyes, I realized he’d watched me come, up close and personal, in the glare of the bathroom lights. I wasn’t embarrassed, just surprised, and pleased he was still hard inside me.

“I’m a clit man, too,” he said with a wicked grin.

I laughed, shaking my head, and said, “I’m a cock girl.”

“Oh, really?” he asked, and as if reading my mind, he eased out of me and gently lowered my legs to the floor. 

I manhandled him, pushing him against the back of the shower and dropped to my knees. His cock was jutting out, deliciously hard and gleaming with my juices. I wrapped my hand tightly around him, stroked up and down twice, all the while keeping my eyes on his.

I licked the head, tasting myself on him. 

He licked his lips.

“We taste good,” I told him.

His feral grin made me throb deep inside.

I eased his wide cock between my lips, taking him in. I wrapped my hand around the base and stroked slowly as he slid in and out of my mouth. It turned me on even more, knowing he was watching. I sucked harder and one of his hands slammed against the back of the shower while the other gripped my head.

“Fuck!”

I grinned around his girth. _Oh, yeah._

I switched hands gripping his cock, and slid my right one down my stomach. The ache between my legs was insistent. 

His eyes widened fractionally, and I knew he knew what I was doing.

Caressing my cheek, he could feel himself sliding in and out of my mouth, his thumb stroking the side of my lips, touching himself.

My mind spiraled out of control, his thoughts coming at me so fast. He was so close, but holding back, imagining me... it was too much. My fingers rubbed harshly against my clit, I needed this so bad.

Oh, and then bliss. I was coming and humming and he was shooting down my throat. My hand faltered on his cock and he wrapped his hand around mine, continuing to get himself off. I tried to keep my eyes on his but it was too good and they closed in pleasure.

I heard, more than felt, the water being turned off in the shower. And then a fluffy white towel was wrapped around me. I leaned against him, some for support and some for contact. I felt very vulnerable in that moment; I couldn’t explain it.

He steered us to the bed, threw back the heavy comforter and settled us between the cool white sheets, dropping the towels beside the bed. He spooned me, facing the large windows, and I tried to stay awake. I tried...

***

Waking a bit later, I realized I was in bed alone. I opened my eyes and stared. 

Eliot was nude, standing in front of the windows. He was in profile to me, his right arm raised above his head, his forehead resting against his hand. I had never wished so much for the ability to draw. His body was well proportioned, athletic, and firm. He didn’t have the physique of someone who worked out for vanity’s sake, instead his body had been honed by necessity. He was strong because he needed to be.

“I wish I could draw,” I said softly. 

He turned to look at me and for a moment, I saw a flicker of something vulnerable and immediately I felt the need to protect him.

“You’re beautiful,” I told him, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. 

He grimaced quickly but tried to cover.

“What?” I asked, unwilling to let it go. “Something wrong with being called beautiful?”

Stepping to the bed, he drew up a leg and sat on the end of the bed, pulling the end of the sheet over his groin.

He shrugged, then said, “When that’s the only thing people see.”

I nodded in agreement. 

“‘sides,” he said, gesturing to himself, “how could I be beautiful with all these scars?”

“Hey, chicks dig scars.”

He laughed then, long and loudly. It was the first time I’d heard him laugh unrestrained. It softened his eyes and face, and I reached out to push his hair behind his ear. 

“I like your laugh.”

His eyes softened further.

“I like you,” he said, taking my hand and kissing it.

“Me, too.” I squeezed his hand.

We sat like that for a long minute, just taking the other in. The scar in his eyebrow and on his upper lip, the blue of his eyes... totally appealing. 

He finally broke the silence with a comment.

“I know it’s a little late, but... are you protected?” At first, I thought he meant security, but then I heard his thoughts.

“Yes, I... and I’m clean.” Being immortal did have its advantages.

“Same.” He nodded and the subject was closed.

He stretched out across the end of the bed, the sheet still strategically covering him from waist to mid-thigh. I wanted to stop talking and just climb on him, but his words were fresh in my head.

“Tell me something about yourself?” I asked.

“Like what?”

I felt his guard start to rise.

“Like,” I searched for something safe, “tell me something you don’t know how to do, something you can do and something you’d like to learn how to do.”

He relaxed again.

“Somethin’ I don’t know how to do...” Ideas raced through his head. “Hmm... knit.”

“Knit?” I laughed. “Is that also something you’d like to learn?”

“Sure. But I’d really like to learn how to play the piano.” He said it shyly, like he’d revealed his deepest secret desire.

“The piano?”

He nodded. 

“I can play a little,” I said. “If we get the chance, I’ll show you.”

“‘kay,” he said softly. “What about you? What don’t you know how to do and want to learn?”

“You didn’t tell me something you **can** do,” I reminded him.

“Hmm...” he thought about it. “I can... cook.”

“Cook?” I asked. “More than turning the oven on and boiling water?”

He laughed. “Yeah, a bit more than that. I’ll show you some time.” Echoing my words.

“Deal.”

“Now you,” he said, not letting it go.

“Okay.” I sat up straighter. “I don’t know how to... draw.”

“Draw! You already said that!” he chided. 

“But I can’t,” I defended. “I can’t draw or sketch or anything artistic like that. Even my stick figures are unrecognizable.”

He laughed. “That somethin’ you wanna learn?”

“No, I’ve tried. I’m hopeless.” I threw my hands up. “I would like to learn how to surf.”

“Really?” he asked. “You seem pretty athletic. Can’t believe you don’t know how.”

“I’ve never tried.” I shrugged. “Maybe if I try, I could. I just never have. Have you?”

“No, but... I think I could,” he said. I could see the thoughts filtering in and out, imagining himself doing it. “Maybe we could try it.”

I liked the way he said ‘we’.

The suite’s doorbell rang, and he was instantly alert and on guard.

“It’s the butler,” I reassured him.

I slid from the bed and grabbed the complimentary bathrobe from the closet and threw it on, pulling the bedroom door closed behind me. 

Ray, my personal butler for this trip, was waiting in the hall. He pushed the cart in while I held open the door.

“How are you, Ray?”

“I’m doing very well, Ms. O’Neil, how are you?”

“I’m great,” I said, looking at the covered trays on the table.

“You requested cheese and fruit, but I took the liberty of adding some meats. A little capicola and prosciutto. Some spicy mustard. Olives. And nuts.” He unveiled each plate.

“Wonderful,” I told him. “What wine do you have for me?”

“Ah,” Ray said, turning the chilled bottle so I could see the label. “A very nice Frascati.”

“Looks good,” I said. “Please open it.”

After opening the bottle, he poured me a sample. It was very cold and crisp. 

“Wonderful.” 

I watched him fill my glass and then pour another, secretly pleased about how informed the staff was kept. 

“Will there be anything else?” Ray asked.

I shook my head. “No, that’ll be all, Ray.”

After Ray left himself out of the suite, I pushed the cart to the bedroom. Eliot had slid on his jeans, they were zipped but not buttoned. He noticed that I noticed and he gave a knowing smile. I felt something warm and liquid deep in my belly start to tingle in anticipation.

“Sustenance,” I told him.

He picked up the wine glasses and held one out for me. We clinked glasses and he lifted the glass for a taste. I was mesmerized by his lips parting, the muscles of his throat as he swallowed, his tongue licking his lips.

“Mmm... good,” he said and I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the wine or my obvious desire.

I set the wine glass down, caught his eyes and slowly untied my robe.

“Whoa,” he said, holding out a hand. “You didn’t finish.”

I smiled saucily. “You can help me with that.” 

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “Somethin’ you can do.”

“Oh,” I reassured him, “I **can** do this.”

He laughed hungrily. “Yes, ma’am, I know you can.” He gestured for me to continue, but I knew it wasn’t the striptease he was referring to.

“If you insist.”

“I do.” He took another sip of his wine and I seriously considered testing his resolve, but his thoughts were totally on the ‘what I could do’ versus what he’d already seen me do.

“Okay,” I told him. “I can... well...” _Should I?_ “maybe I should just show you.”

I pulled some clothes from the dresser and disappeared into the bathroom. When I remerged, Eliot was sitting on the end of the bed.

“Can you stand over here?” I asked him, pointing to a spot in the middle of the room.

He looked a little confused, taking in my blue sports bra and black yoga boyshorts, but he stood up and walked over to where I’d pointed, setting his wine glass on the cart beside mine.

“Do you trust me?” I asked, serious now. What I had in mind could be dangerous and if he didn’t trust me, he might flinch and move, causing me to strike him.

He studied me long and hard, looking for something in my eyes. 

“How long you been doin’ this?” he finally asked.

“Longer than I can remember,” I told him.

Seeming to come to an answer, he nodded. “I trust you.”

I picked up three cubes of cheese, slid them on a single toothpick and balanced them on his right shoulder. It was a small target, not quite three inches high, but big enough. 

I visualized the move. Spin. Jump. Kick. I tested the distance. _What am I doing?_

“Ready?”

He nodded sharply, and I could see his stance had changed; he was braced and ready.

“On three,” I said. I took a deep breath, then released it.

“One.”

Breathe.

“Two.”

Focus.

“Three.”

Execute.

As quick as lightening, I spun, jumped and kicked, performing a textbook spinning roundhouse kick, kicking the blocks of cheese off his shoulder and onto the floor without touching him.

“Whoo!” he said, his eyes wide. “Amazin’!” 

I put my palms together and bowed. He surprised me by returning the action. 

“You’ve studied?” I asked him.

“No,” he shook his head, “not officially. That was really good.”

I shook my head. “I shouldn’t have been so reckless. I could’ve hurt you.”

“But you didn’t.”

He picked up our wine glasses and handed me mine. I took a sip in relief and watched his eyes soften as he looked at me.

“Now,” he started, winking, “‘bout that somethin’ else you **can** do...”

***

Several hours and separate showers later, we were dressed and ready to get some dinner. Eliot was wearing jeans, a beater and a light blue button down shirt. I had chosen jeans, a pale pink tee-shirt, navy ballerina flats, and a navy blazer in deference to the cool night. I left my hair loose, the natural waves being enough style for a casual night.

The night doorman held open the door to a town car that was waiting for us when we exited the hotel. 

“Thank, Felix,” I said, slipping into the back seat.

“You know everybody?” Eliot asked.

“I try,” I answered with a grin. “Cole, you know where we’re going tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the driver said, pulling out of the porte-cochère. 

“Where we goin’ anyway?” Eliot asked.

I leaned into him; he felt warm and solid beside me. “You’ll see.”

It wasn’t a long before we pulled to a stop.

“So,” I said, tipping my head, “how do you like your hot dog?”

We were at Pink’s, a Hollywood legend since 1939. I’d had my first one a couple months after the original Pink’s opened, when it was just a cart. 

The line moved pretty quickly, and soon we were ordering.

“I want a spicy Chicago Polish Dog and fries,” I told the girl at the counter, Mandi.

“Gonna share those fries?” Eliot whispered in my ear.

“Maybe,” I teased. 

“I’ll take an Emeril Legasse Bam Dog and onion rings,” he ordered, then winked at me.

“Gonna have to brush your teeth after all those onions if you wanna kiss me again.”

He leaned in close and whispered hotly in my ear, “Do I gotta brush ‘em if I wanna eat ya later?”

I felt myself flush with excitement. Oh yeah, fuck the brushing.

“To drink?” Mandi asked.

“Root beer,” I said.

Eliot shrugged and said, “Make that two.”

I was faster than Eliot with the cash to pay for dinner. He growled—oh fuck, I think I came!—and I said, “You can treat tomorrow night.”

“I’ll hold ya to that,” he said, and I wondered what I’d gotten myself in to.

I took my change and dumped it into the tip jar. 

“Hey, thanks!”

“Thank you, Mandi.”

Waiting for our food, Eliot asked, “How do you do that?”

“What?” I was confused.

“Know everybody’s name.” He gestured to the counter.

“Don’t tell anybody, but,” I looked around and lowered my voice, “I can read minds.”

He laughed sharply, then said, “Ah, so, what’s on my mind?”

I waved my hand across his face and pretended to think about it. “I’m getting something... yes... I have it... you’re thinking about stealing my fries!” I gasped dramatically. “How dare you!”

I was once again rewarded with his hearty laughter. 

When our order was ready, I grabbed a handful of napkins while Eliot grabbed the tray, following me out onto the patio. We were lucky enough to find a table with two chairs. With no further discussion, we tore into our dogs. He took a bite of my spicy Chicago and I tried his Bam; his was good, but I still preferred mine. When I offered him a fry, he ate it from my fingers, holding my hand in place so he could teasingly suck my fingers.

We didn’t linger once we were done, the patio was quite crowded and others were waiting for a place to sit. He bussed the table while I called the town car for pickup. 

We stood on the curb, waiting for Cole to swing around the block. Eliot stood closest to the street, his arm casually around me, resting in the small of my back. It felt familiar and right, and I leaned into him.

Once the car pulled up, Eliot opened the back door before Cole could get out and I slid in.

“Thanks, Cole,” I heard Eliot say and smiled to myself.

Eliot settled in beside me, his arm across my shoulders now.

“Where to, Ms. O’Neil?” Cole asked.

“Want something sweet?” I asked Eliot.

He raised his eyebrows and I squeezed his thigh in answer.

“Back to the hotel, please, Cole,” I told him.

“Very good,” Cole said.

***

Entering the hotel, I glanced at the bar and seeing it mostly empty, I turned to Eliot.

“Wanna get a drink?” I cocked my head in that direction.

“Sure,” he said. “Let me hit the head first.”

I nodded and turned to the bar. There were a few people at tables, but no one sitting at the bar, so I took a seat.

“What can I getcha?” the bartender, Mike, asked.

I looked over the bottles, debating.

“Courvoisier,” I said, deciding on brandy. “The ‘21’ if you have it.”

“We do.” Mike took a fine crystal snifter from the shelf and poured the liquid neatly into the glass.

“I’ll get that.” I heard someone say beside me; I knew it wasn’t Eliot’s voice, so I looked.

He was a tall, handsome man, all cheekbones and perfectly coifed blond hair. Nordic. The Armani suit fit him well; Armani has a style that’s easy to recognize. His thoughts were so obvious, I don’t even need to read him.

“Thanks,” I said, “but I’ve got it.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, pulling out a money clip loaded with bills.

“No. Thank you anyway.”

“Whatever,” he said, shrugging and walking away.

 _Another time, another place,_ I thought, watching him walk away. _Nah!_

I smiled to myself when Mike set the brandy snifter in front of me. Slowly I swirled the amber liquid around in the glass, and took a sniff. I smelled a hint of hazelnut and, perhaps, fig. I tilted the glass back and took a small sip. 

“Mmm.” Orange and some ginger. Perfect.

“Hey, buddy, I need another Johnny Walker Blue, neat.” I heard someone nearby order. “And the lady’s drink, too.”

I turned to look at the man. This one had dark hair with a goatee and was holding out a platinum AmEx card. Not as attractive, but still trying too hard.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “I’ve got it.” 

I couldn’t help myself; I pulled my black AmEx card from my blazer pocket and set it on the bar, playing it like it was the winning hand in poker.

“Fine.” He shrugged, picking up his drink and going away.

“Sorry,” Mike said.

I shrugged it off; it was nothing. I turned my attention back to my glass, swirling it again.

“Ya gotta do that slower.”

The banked fire in my belly ignited again, red hot and burning, at his words.

“Oh, yeah?” I asked, turning to watch him slide onto the barstool beside me.

“Yeah,” he said, taking the snifter from me, cupping the rounded bottom. “Ya gotta treat brandy like a woman.”

“Do tell?”

He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Ya gotta move slow, easy. Warm it up a little at a time. Appreciate what ya see. And then take a sniff.”

He tilted his head and sniffed the side of my neck.

I put my hand on his thigh and squeezed gently.

“Now ya go in for a taste.” He took a sip of the brandy, his eyes on mine.

I licked my lips.

“Wanna taste?” he asked.

“Uh huh.”

His lips were gentle on mine, open and wet, teasing. It was a taste, and he tasted like heat and oranges.

“Ya want more?” he asked.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

He held the glass for me, tilting it ever so slightly so that only a small amount of liquid actually went into my mouth.

“Now hold it in your mouth,” he said, setting the snifter down. “Feel it. Feel the way it rolls across your tongue and hits the back of your mouth.”

I did as he said. I was feeling something all right.

“Now swallow.”

Oh yeah. Burning, definitely burning.

“There’s also somethin’ to be said for doing it fast.” He lifted the snifter and drained the remaining liquid, his eyes twinkling with delight.

I smiled at him, thoroughly aroused.

“What do I owe ya, um, Mike?” he asked, and I was pleased he looked at the bartender’s nametag.

I slipped my AmEx card back in my pocket as Eliot paid cash for my—our—drink.

“Ready?” he asked. His face was flushed and his grin was infectious.

“Definitely.”

He held out his hand and I took it, our fingers twining together like we’d been holding hands for years. We only had eyes for each other as we walked to the elevator. Luck was with us and we had the car all to ourselves.

He kept hold of my hand while he pulled the keycard from his pocket and swiped it across the reader.

“I like your foreplay,” I said as the elevator slowly rose.

“If ya liked that,” he said, pushing me against the wall, his whole body pressed against me, “you’re gonna love what comes next.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

He leaned in close and whispered against my neck, “You.”

“Oh, fuck me,” I said, closing my eyes in anticipation.

“Eventually,” he growled, already working his hand under my tee-shirt.

***

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I groaned, riding out the waves of my orgasm as Eliot continued to thrust into me, my fingers still rubbing my clit.

With a loud groan and two hard, final thrusts that threatened to slam me into the headboard, Eliot came, gripping my hips with bruising strength.

“You’re trying to kill me,” I said as he fell onto the bed beside me.

His chest rumbled with laughter. 

Still feeling the pleasure singing through my veins, I turned to look at him, thinking about what I’d learned of him so far. He had old fashioned manners, he was observant, he was a generous and inventive lover, he knew how to seduce a woman, he had deep blue eyes that sparkled with mirth, his laughter was infectious, his smile was charming, he had a great sense of humor, and he could fight. I sensed there was a great deal under the surface and I was curious to know more. 

“So,” I started, sitting up and leaning on my elbow, “I know you’re not from L.A., where are you from?”

He sat up, pulled his knees up and rested his arms across them.

“Well, I was born in Texas, but grew up in Oklahoma. I’ve lived,” he ran a hand through his hair, “whew... all over the world.”

“Where do you call home?” 

“Right now, it’s Boston,” he told me. “What about you? Where’s home?”

“I travel a lot, but most of the time I’m in Chicago or Boston,” I told him.

“Where in Boston?”

“Back Bay,” I said. “You?”

“Maverick Square.”

I sat up, holding the sheet against my breasts.

“And we had to come **here** to meet?”

He shrugged. “Fate?”

“Do you believe in fate?”

He thought about it for a few long seconds. “Yeah. Too much stuff can’t be explained any other way.”

“I agree.”

We smiled at each other and I wondered what else fate had in store for us.

***

After a quick shower, I slipped on a bathrobe and went back to the bedroom. Naked, Eliot passed me and I couldn’t resist the impulse and I lightly smacked his ass.

“That how it’s gonna be?” he teased.

I shrugged and smiled. 

I heard the shower snap on, and decided to check my email. There wasn’t anything important; my next meeting was at the end of next week, in New York. I wondered when Eliot had to be back in Boston, and what we were going to do in the time we had together. We’d mentioned trying surfing, but I was just gonna go with whatever happened and enjoy the week.

I set the alarm on my phone for 6, needing to get my work out in, then set the phone on the bedside table. I looked at the other bedside table. _Which side should I sleep on? Does he have a preference?_

“What?” Eliot asked.

Lost in thought, I hadn’t heard him approach. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair was wet and pushed back from his face. I almost forgot what I was thinking.

“Which side do you want to sleep on?” I finally asked.

 _Near_ , I heard. “Don’t matter,” he said.

“I’ll take the side by the windows,” I said, picking up my phone and carrying it around the bed. He was still standing at the foot of the bed and I could tell he felt a little off.

“This is kinda weird for me,” he finally confessed. “I’m not used to sleepin’ with anybody.”

“What about last night?”

“That was passin’ out after you wore me out.” He winked.

“I think you wore **me** out,” I said cheekily. “But I don’t **sleep** with many people myself. Guess we’ll just have to make the best of it.”

“Think we’ve done that,” he said, dropping his towel.

And any thoughts about getting to sleep early went right out the window.

***

Rolling over, I groaned as I tapped the snooze feature on my alarm.

“Come ‘ere,” I heard Eliot growl and I rolled back into his embrace. 

For two people who weren’t used to sleeping with someone else, we had certainly fallen into a comfortable position beside one another. I found myself curled into his side, my forehead touching his rib cage, his arm behind my head, his hand on the back of my neck, our legs entwined.

“Gotta get up,” I mumbled against his warm skin.

He rolled onto his side and pressed his erection against my breasts.

“Already am.” I could hear the grin in his voice.

“If you pull your cock out right now,” I warned, “we’ll never leave this bed today.”

His whole body shook with laughter. “Promise or threat?”

“Later.” I kissed his stomach regretfully. “After all that food yesterday, I have to work out.”

I slipped from our bed and into the bathroom. After braiding my hair, I dressed in my standard gear—capri length yoga pants and a sports bra. I had a bag packed with everything else I’d need.

Intending to grab my phone and the keycard, I was surprised to see Eliot sitting on the end of the bed wearing black gym pants and a grey tee-shirt, lacing up his sneakers. 

“You gonna come?” I asked.

“You said ‘later’.” His wolfish grin made my stomach do a little flip-flop.

“Oh yeah, definitely” I said, nodding. “I train pretty hard,” I warned him. It was a side effect of being immortal.

“I think I can keep up.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” I said, plotting. “If you can keep up, I’ll give you a massage later.”

“Hope your massage skills are as good as your martial arts.”

“Better,” I promised.

***

I was a regular at the hotel’s gym, so I signed us in and we went to work quickly.

“A run to start with?” I asked.

He just nodded and started stretching. I stuck with my routine, doing a series of Tai Chi _katas_ to loosen up. I felt Eliot watching me, and doubled my focus, making sure my form was perfect.

Once our warm up was done, we jumped on side by side treadmills. I chose one of the pre-programmed workouts and set off. We ran in companionable silence, our strides in close sync. He ran with an easy stride, like he’d run for years, and I was pleasantly surprised to learn more about him. 

After forty minutes, my program dropped into its ‘cool down’ leg, and I slowed to a walk. He adjusted his speed and slowed as well. He looked good with sweat running down his face, his hair dripping.

“Here,” I said, pulling a black hair band off my wrist.

He took it with a grateful smile and pulled his hair back into a low ponytail. 

The gym attendant came over with two bottles of cold water.

“Thanks, Max,” I said, stepping off the treadmill and taking a bottle. “Can you get us my usual gear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Max said, hurrying to get the kickboxing gear.

“A little kickboxing,” I told Eliot. “Mind helping me?”

“Sure,” he said, twisting the lid off his bottle. I watched a bead of sweat roll down his neck as he leaned back, taking a long pull from his bottle, and thought about licking it off.

We moved to the mat and Max brought two sets of gloves, a large body shield and a set of punch mitts, rushing away, probably glad to get a break from me using him as a punching bag.

“What do ya start with?” Eliot asked, and I was glad he knew his way around a gym and the gear.

“Punches,” I told him, strapping on the gloves. While I didn’t need protection from sprains or breaks, in a public setting I couldn’t take the chance of a bad strike causing an injury.

“Let’s go,” he said, holding up the mitts. 

We started slow, getting a feel for each other. He called the sequence, I followed. _Jab, cross, uppercut, uppercut._ He built too slowly for my taste and skill, frustrating me.

“Come on,” I said loudly, “more.”

He made the sequences longer, harder, adding in knees and kicks. _Kick, kick, knee, knee, jab, cross, hook._

“Harder,” he called. 

_Jab, cross, upper, upper, kick, kick._

“Harder,” he growled. “I know you can do it harder.”

_Knee, knee, jab, cross, upper, upper, kick._

I gave him harder, gave him everything, jabbing and kicking with as much force as I could muster. He took it, took each strike, grunting with effort and by the end, we were drenched in sweat, breathing hard, red faced.

“Enough,” I finally called, dropping to my ass on the mat.

Eliot threw the mitts down and bent over, resting his hands on his knees, breathing hard.

“Son of a bitch,” he said softly.

I laughed hoarsely.

Grabbing our bottles of water, Eliot knelt beside me and helped me take off the gloves. We drank greedily. 

“You want a go?” I asked.

He nodded and stood up, holding out a hand to me. I took it, and he effortlessly pulled me up. I pulled on the mitts while Eliot slipped on the second, larger pair of gloves.

“Good?” I asked.

He nodded sharply.

I started out as he had, slowly, getting a feel for his strikes and the power behind them. _Jab, cross, jab, cross, upper, upper._ I knew he was holding back, and for now, that was fine. I added in hooks, he added a bit more power. I called out the sequences faster, adding in kicks and knees and felt less power.

“Come on!”

_Kick, kick, jab, cross, upper, upper, hook._

He grunted in response.

“Come on!” I yelled.

_Jab, cross, jab, cross, hook, knee, knee._

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he roared. 

_Knee, knee, hook, hook, jab, cross, kick, kick._

“I can take it,” I snarled right back.

And I took it. I took the power kicks that rattled my spine. I took the uppercuts that made my shoulders ache. I took the hooks that made my palms burn. I took it all until I realized he wouldn’t stop unless I did.

“Stop, stop, stop,” I said, holding up my mitt covered hands in surrender.

“Okay?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yeah,” I reassured him. “Water?” 

He nodded.

“Max,” I called, knowing he’d been watching us, “two more waters.”

I pulled off the mitts and tossed them aside, then helped Eliot take his gloves off. We were face to face, breathing hard and drenched in sweat, but there was still that electric current I’d felt from nearly the first moment our eyes met. 

Max handed us the bottles without a word, picking up the gear scattered around us.

“Sure you’re okay?” Eliot asked me after a long swig from his bottle.

I nodded. “Are you?”

He grinned. “You’re tough.”

I felt a swell of pride flow through me. “Thanks.”

***

After our workout, I went to sit in the private sauna in the lady’s locker room after Eliot mentioned wanting a steam. When I left the gym, Max told me Eliot was still in the steam room, so I went upstairs alone; Eliot had his own keycard.

Back in the room, I took off the sleeveless cotton shift dress I’d changed into after the sauna, took the clip from my hair and jumped in the shower. I had rinsed off in the lady’s locker room, but I needed a real shower with my shampoo and soap.

I pulled on a clean bathrobe from the hotel and when I stepped from the bathroom, I was surprised Eliot wasn’t back yet. If he felt anything like I did, he was going to be hungry.

I rang for my butler, and Ray promptly answered.

“What can I do for you, Ms. O’Neil?”

“Breakfast,” I told him. “I need coffee, Ray.”

“I can do that, ma’am. What else?”

“Fruit, oatmeal, eggs, bacon, pancakes, toast.” Other than the omelet and toast I’d seen Eliot eat for breakfast, I didn’t know what he would like.

“Anything specific or a smattering of everything?” He seemed to know my dilemma.

“A smattering.” I smiled when I said it. “And orange juice.”

“Do you want the coffee now?” he asked, and I knew he knew the answer. 

“Yes, please.”

A few minutes later, Ray brought a carafe of coffee and two cups, plus sugar and creamer. Eliot let himself into the room while I was pouring a cup.

“Coffee?” I asked.

“‘m gonna shower first.” He gestured to the workout clothes he must have put back on after his steam.

“Okay,” I told him. “There’s a clean bathrobe in the closet. Let me have your dirty clothes to wash.”

“Thanks,” he said tiredly.

“And breakfast is on the way.”

***

After our ‘smattering’ of breakfast, Ray cleared the dishes and took a sack of dirty laundry. 

Eliot was nursing a cup of coffee when I asked, “Ready for that massage?”

“Ya don’t have to,” he said half-heartedly.

“You kept up, fair’s fair.” I grinned.

He finished his coffee and set the empty cup on the table.

“Where do ya want me?”

“Bed.”

He arched his eyebrow at me but didn’t say anything as he got up and went into the bedroom, stripping off his bathrobe and tossing it on the dresser. I had already pulled the comforter and sheet back, and Eliot settled himself face down in the middle of the bed.

 _Perfect,_ I thought, looking at him. His skin was honey colored, marred only by a few random scars here and there. I took a long moment to study the tattoos on his calves, an eagle on one and a wolf on the other. I wondered about them, but I knew from experience that tattoos were a very personal thing for some people; he seemed the type and I hoped one day he would enlighten me.

I slipped off my own robe, pulling the bottle of baby oil from the pocket before tossing it onto the dresser beside his.

Crawling up the bed, I trailed my hair up his bare skin, teasing. I sat at the base of his spine, just above the swell of his ass and lay my chest against his back, soaking up his warmth. 

His thoughts were easy to read ( _smooth... soft... hot... hard... need... desire..._ ) and I let them cascade over me, warming me from the inside. _Don’t worry,_ I thought, _I’ll take care of you._

I kissed the back of his neck before sitting up and getting to work. I uncapped the bottle and poured a little oil in my hand, before recapping it and shoving it aside.

Starting on his left shoulder, I kneaded the muscle, spreading the oil. He was tight, but as I worked across his trapezius to his right shoulder, I felt him slowly start to relax. Easing my way down, I started in on his latissimus dorsi. He tensed a moment as I worked on his right side and I realized he was ticklish and applied a firmer touch; he relaxed once again. I worked across his back to the left side, lost in the rhythmic motion. 

I added more oil to my hands and shifted to sit below his ass so I could work on his gluteus medius, then finally his gluteus maximus. The more I kneaded his ass, the more I found his thoughts creeping into mine. I remembered our first night together and wondered...

I cupped his ass cheeks and squeezed gently, then slowly ran my thumbs down the crack, ghosting over his opening; it flexed under my touch. 

_Oh yeah?_ I thought.

Scooting down to sit on his thighs, I spread his cheeks and licked a path from the top of his crack all the way down. His body tensed in a very distinctive way and he moaned softly; I didn’t think he was even aware of it.

I flicked my tongue against his hole, tickling the edges, then pushing against it. He pushed back and I continued. Pulling the skin taut, I pushed hard against his hole, the tip of my tongue circling, drilling into him.

He growled against the pillows and lifted his hips, shifting to give his growing erection some room. I reached between his legs and gripped his cock, stroking it slowly, synchronizing it with tongue fucking his ass.

 _...please...please...aw...fuck..._ I heard his thoughts so loudly, I wondered if he’d spoken.

I backed off and released his cock. “Roll over.”

He did as requested and I knelt between his thighs, guiding his cock to my mouth while two oil slicked fingers teased his opening. Pushing into my mouth, pushing onto my fingers, he was rigid with need. 

I eased my two fingers inside his tight ass and felt a tremor course through him. Gently, gently I wiggled them, looking for...

His whole body shuddered as I rubbed his prostate, taking his cock deep in my mouth, sucking hard.

“Uhh, uhh... gaw... fuck!” he yelled.

Then I was swallowing around his cock as he came down my throat. I watched his face, agony and ecstasy, as he came. After all this time, I was still amazed at how closely pleasure and pain were linked.

I backed off his cock and slowly slipped my fingers from inside him. I rested my head against his hip and waited as the last vestiges of the orgasm sang through his veins.

Opening his eyes, they met mine. He was unreadable in that moment and I just stared into their deep blue depths.

“Come ‘ere,” he said before sitting up, grabbing me by the biceps and pulling me to him.

He kissed me with the same fervor as he had the first night, all tongue and heat and depth, like he couldn’t get enough. He rolled us over, our legs twined together, his thigh nestled between my thighs, pressing intimately.

Pulling away, Eliot gazed down at me. His fingers traced my lips.

“How’d you know?” he asked softly.

“I didn’t,” I told him. “I guessed.”

Kissing me again, he took his time, sucking my bottom lip and running his tongue along the sharp edges of my teeth. Slowly, he slid his hand down to my breast, squeezing it gently before pinching the nipple hard enough to make me gasp. 

“Yes?” he asked, breathing in my ear.

“Yes.”

I didn’t have time to think before he did it again, harder. Shifting, he lowered his head and caught the other nipple between his teeth. I pushed against his thigh, trying to create the perfect friction.

“Uh-uh,” he said against my nipple, then sucked it in, hard. _Aw, damn..._ I felt myself on that very same edge I’d balanced him on, agony and ecstasy. 

Releasing my nipple from his mouth, he watched my face as his other hand slid down my stomach. I felt feverish in anticipation. He slid his hand between my thighs, his fingers rubbing slow circles around my clit.

I tried to shift, seeking a firmer, faster stroke, but he held me where he wanted me.

“I’ve gotcha,” he said. “Wanna see you.”

Achy need coursed through me. I felt vulnerable with desire, as if he were reading my thoughts. 

He teased me, his fingers rubbing my clit and then sliding inside me, pumping, thrusting, and then his fingers were back on my clit. Each time, he took me higher, getting me so close I could almost feel it and then he’d back off, the whole time, his eyes were fixed on mine.

I whined. I whimpered.

“Please...” I finally sobbed.

“Because you said ‘please’,” he whispered in my ear. 

I felt his fingers rub my clit with more emphasis. Finally, blissfully, I felt my orgasm build and build and... _Holy Hell!_ I came hard, each wave crashing over me like a tidal wave, my whole body trembled as I rode it out.

His eyes were still on me and there was a hint of a smile on his face. “I could watch that every day.”

After all the build up, my want was still great and only one thing would take that away. As if he could still feel my need, he slid his fingers inside me, but it wasn’t enough; I ground against them.

“Need some more, baby?” he asked. 

I moaned in response, feeling Eliot move between my legs and fill me in one fluid motion.

It felt incredible, his thick, hard cock stretched me wide. He moved so gracefully, thrusting hard, hitting all the right places.

“So tight, baby,” he said, punctuating each word with a harder thrust. “So wet.”

I closed my eyes, feeling each thrust pushing me closer and closer, a second orgasm building. I was so close. I gripped his hips roughly, guiding him, holding him exactly where I needed him. 

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.” And I came again, my body trembling, seized in agonizing pleasure. 

“Makin’ me come,” he said through gritted teeth, and a spark of pleasure swept through me. He groaned and came, filling me.

He dropped onto me, crushing my lips with his, kissing me slowly, deeply. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him against me, enjoying his hot, firm body. We stayed like that until he softened and slipped from my body, then he shifted until he could spoon up behind me, wrapping his arm firmly around my waist, holding me to him.

***

My mind was in overdrive, and I was unable to sleep. I waited until I felt Eliot relax and fall into a light sleep, then got up, slipped my bathrobe on and curled up in the chair across from the bed.

I glanced over at him and shook my head in wonder. _How did this happen?_ I stared out the window.

When I’d come to L.A. looking for a way to blow off some steam, I planned to pick up a guy (or two), get fucked seven ways from Sunday, maybe get roughed up a little, and then leave them sleeping it off while I disappeared. Most of the time, challenges were enough to tamper this need in me, but on occasion, when challenges were few and far between, I would let my dark desires out. I never did it in a city where I lived or did business, or with anyone I could do business with.

I looked over at his sleeping form again. _Eliot._ So unexpected. 

In the bar, I’d noticed him early on, but I’d been playing with two marks whose wonderfully dark thoughts fueled me. That is, until I had been at the bar getting another round and felt—yes, felt—the fury radiating off Eliot. I’d tuned into his thoughts and saw they were directed at the way the two marks were treating me. He was close to losing his cool, and that’s when I’d decided to dump them and pick him up.

He’d surprised me; I thought all that fury would have been directed at me, but instead, it fused into lust and hunger. He’d been an eager and passionate lover, but also unselfish and attentive; an unexpected find in a (so I thought) one night stand. His passion had startled and then incited me even further. I hadn’t been able to get enough of him, that’s why I’d invited him to breakfast, and then to spend the week with me. The more I got to know him, the more I wanted to know.

I was disconcerted when I looked over at him again and found he was staring at me. Opening my mind to his, I found his thoughts were very similar to mine. 

_...don’t know shit about her... like her anyway... something about her..._

“Hey,” I said.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout so hard over there?”

I wondered how long he’d been watching me.

“I was just wondering who you are,” I told him fairly honestly.

“Just a guy,” he said, shrugging, but I could feel his defenses start to rise.

I rose from the chair, pulled the bedsheet from the floor, draping it over him as I sat on the end of the bed.

“I mean,” I started, hoping to calm him, “I don’t know anything about you. Like... are you married?”

“No,” he answered shortly. “You?”

“No, not now.” I shook my head. “I was a long time ago.”

“Couldn’t a been that long ago,” he said. “You’re what? Twenty...” He trailed off waiting for me to fill in the blank.

I smiled. “Twenty-five.” _Two hundred and twenty-five._ “I married young,” I explained. “He passed away a couple years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he said genuinely.

“Thank you.” 

I touched his hand. He took mine, our fingers folding together.

“There’s been no one since?” he asked.

“Not really,” I told him. “There’ve been a few, but... I’m not looking for serious.”

He nodded, then said wryly, “Just looking to spend a week with a broken down old man.”

“Hey now, I happen to like old men.” I laughed, but I was serious. “Besides, you can’t be more than, what? Thirty...”

He smiled knowingly. “Thirty-five.”

“That’s a good age for a man.” 

He huffed. “Yeah.”

“And you’re not broken down, either,” I told him. “You kicked my ass at the gym this morning.”

He seemed to weigh this, but didn’t say anything. He was a hard nut to crack.

“Tell me more about yourself, like, um,” I shrugged, “what do you like to do for fun?” 

He laughed huskily. “Well, I already showed ya, but I can show ya again.”

“Come on,” I said, punching his shoulder playfully, trying not to let his smile and the twinkle in his eyes distract me.

“Am I auditionin’ for a datin’ show?” he asked, sitting up and stacking the pillows to lean on.

“Pretend you are,” I told him. “Single, white male, mid-thirties, good-looking, brown hair, blu—”

“‘Good-looking hair’, I like it,” he teased.

“Ha ha.” I laughed good-naturedly. “Come on. Please?” Then, remembering something. “You gave me what I wanted **last** time I said ‘please’.”

His eyes glittered with desire, and something in his posture changed and became more appealing.

He shook his head, but started anyway, “Single, white male, mid-thirties, brown hair, blu—”

“You forgot good-looking,” I added. 

“Blue eyes... uh...”

“Likes?”

“I don’t know... uh, cooking, reading, working out...”

“Seeking?”

He rolled his eyes, but started, “A woman who’s spontaneous and independent.”

“For?” I prompted.

“For fun and laughs and...”

“Great sex?”

He laughed throatily. “Yeah, great sex. What about you?”

“Oh, no, I don’t...” I tried to backpedal. 

“Nope, fair’s fair,” he chided 

I sighed heavily and started, “Single, white female, mid-twenties, strawberry blonde hair, gre—”

“Lovely,” he interjected.

“What?”

Lovely,” he insisted.

I shook my head and continued, “Green eye—”

“Haunting green eyes,” he interrupted again.

“Green eyes with a bit of ye ole Irish temper,” I said with a touch of brogue.

He smiled widely and I could tell he was getting into it. “Likes?”

“Likes travel and learning new things.”

“Seeks?” 

“Seeks a man who can...” _What do I want?_ “can stand beside me and be my equal.”

“For?”

“For fun and adventures with no limits.”

“And great sex?”

“Oh definitely, must include great sex,” I said.

He lifted our joint hands to his mouth and kissed each knuckle, the tip of his tongue touching each one. Unfolding our hands, raised one finger to his mouth, nipping and then sucking on the tip.

His stomach growled loudly.

I laughed, pulling my hand back.

“I better feed you before you eat my hand.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “But let me take you out to dinner.”

I hesitated.

“You treated last night,” he reminded me. “Fair’s fair.”

I acquiesced, realizing that with Eliot everything was probably going to be fair.

***

“I’ll wait for you downstairs,” Eliot said, pocketing his cell phone and wallet.

Seated at the dressing table, I was arranging my hair in a loose, low bun, the gentle waves for once cooperating and falling into place. I had appropriated one of his beaters, using it as a cover-up over my bra and thong. He leaned over and kissed me on the neck and shoulder.

“You smell good,” he said against my skin.

“Thanks.”

I watched him go, noticing that he was wearing fairly new dark jeans and a dark grey button front shirt; I had the impression that was as dressed up as he got on a regular basis, but he carried himself well, confident in himself. I totally liked it.

Blessed with nearly freckle free skin for a blonde with natural red highlights, I was able to skip foundation, and applied a little mascara and liner, and then a touch of clear lip gloss. I slipped the tube of gloss into the silver Coach wristlet alongside my cell.

Stepping into the closet, I knew exactly what I wanted to wear. It was a red halter dress, fitted and short, and perfect for what I was thinking.

I took off the beater and pulled on the tight dress. Not liking the way my bra looked under it, I took it off. I slipped on my Louboutin metallic silver strappy sandals and stepped in front of the full length mirror. 

“Watch out, Eliot,” I said to the empty room.

I added silver chandelier earrings, a silver two-finger infinity ring on my left hand and a thin silver bangle bracelet on my right wrist.

I grabbed a white lace shawl, draped it over my arm and left to meet Eliot.

***

Stepping into the darkened bar, I spotted Eliot immediately. His back was to me, the dark grey shirt stretched across his shoulders in a tantalizing way. There were two women sitting a couple of chairs away, flirting in his direction. I didn’t need to be telepathic to know what they were thinking, but I wondered about his thoughts. Before I could tune in, he turned, as if sensing my presence.

His smile made me catch my breath. Slow, wide, even his eyes were smiling. 

He took a last drink of his beer, dropped some cash on the bar and walked to me. I couldn’t have taken my eyes off him if my life depended on it.

“You look amazing,” he said. “And very tall.”

It was true, the 4-inch heels made me slightly taller than he was. I hadn’t thought...

“And your legs look great in those heels.”

And as quickly as that, it wasn’t a problem. He took my shawl, draping it over my shoulders and then took my hand.

Felix held the door open to the waiting town car, and I realized Eliot must have arranged for it.

“Thank you, Felix,” Eliot said, sliding in after me.

Before I could say anything, Cole spoke up. “Ready, sir?”

“Let’s go, Cole,” Eliot told him.

“You know everybody now?”

“Tryin’.”

We hit little traffic on the short drive, and soon we were pulling up in front of Con Lobos Bistro.

“I got it,” Eliot said, opening the door and holding out his hand for me.

“Welcome to Con Lobos Bistro,” the greeter (no nametag) said as we entered. “Do you have a reservation?”

I looked to Eliot.

“Can you tell Chef Beck that Eliot Spencer is here?”

“Of course,” she said, as if that happened every day.

Looking around the restaurant, I noticed a large mural on the wall behind the bar. Up close, it probably looked like a random series of lines and curves, but from this distance it was easily recognizable as a wolf’s head.

“Con Lobos,” I said, smiling at Eliot. “With wolves.”

He winked.

“Eliot fucking Spencer!” A man’s loud voice boomed in the large space.

Eliot and the man clasped hands, hugged and slapped each other on the back.

“Beck!”

“What the hell brings you to L.A.?” Spying me standing behind Eliot, Beck smiled broadly. “Well, damn, brother, that’s a good reason.”

Eliot laughed and gestured to me. “Lyn O’Neil, this is Dwayne Beck, head chef and owner.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand.

“We don’t have a reservation,” Eliot said apologetically.

“Shut up!” Beck said, turning to the greeter. “Maryann, give them the best table.

We were seated in a booth with a view of the entire restaurant, Beck shoved the menus back in Maryann’s hands. “I’ve got something special in mind for you two.” 

Eliot held up his hands, shaking his head. “It’s not the shrimp and pea risotto with basil and mint is it?”

Beck barked out a laugh. “Not since 2008! Relax and enjoy, my friend.” He turned to the waiter hovering nearby. “Get them the sauvignon blanc, the Saint Clair.”

“Thanks, man.”

Beck started us with a chicken and roasted pepper flatbread with a wonderful asiago cream sauce, red onions and a balsamic glaze. 

“The sweet. The salty. It’s so perfectly balanced.”

Then came clams Murcian style with a loaf of crusty bread to soak up the flavorful sauce made from white wine, garlic, onions, paprika and red pepper flakes. 

“Damn, that’s good. Nice heat!”

The entrée was grilled striped bass with flame roasted asparagus. The striper was prepared simply, but beautifully, the natural taste of the fresh fish shining through.

“This is so fresh, and the asparagus is so flavorful.”

We begged off on dessert and had coffee instead, Beck joining us.

“That was wonderful, man,” Eliot said, shaking Beck’s hand again. 

“Thanks, brother. That means a lot.” 

“We’ve come a long way,” Eliot said softly, taking a sip of his coffee.

“So,” I asked the obvious question, “how do you two know each other?”

Eliot shifted in the booth beside me, coughing once. Beck’s smiled faltered for a split second but he quickly recovered.

“We were in the same line of work,” Beck finally said.

I caught the use of the word ‘were’, but neither man was more forthcoming. 

“So, Lyn, what do you do?” Beck asked.

“I manage a hedge fund,” I told him. I felt Eliot’s eyes on me.

“Maybe I should call you for some financial advice?” Beck said.

“Sure,” I told him.

“Chef!” We heard the yell from the kitchen.

“Damn! I gotta get back in there,” Beck said, standing. “Eliot, it’s always great to see you. Next time, I’m gonna get you in the kitchen.” He turned his attention to me. “Lyn, it was lovely to meet you. Hope to see you again.”

“Thank you, again,” I said. “Everything was exceptional.”

Eliot stood; they shook hands and hugged, slapping each other on the back. After Beck went into the kitchen, Eliot sat back down to finish his coffee. When he asked for the bill, we were told that the meal was on the house. Eliot scoffed and pulled out his wallet anyway, peeling off three-hundred dollar bills and leaving them beside his napkin.

“Ready?”

***

Eliot held out his hand to help me from the town car, and kept holding it as he escorted me into the hotel. We were halfway across the lobby when he stopped and turned to me.

“Dance with me?” he said, gesturing to the pianist playing in the atrium.

“Here?”

“Here.”

He pulled me to him, his other hand fitting itself in the small of my back. We danced slowly as the piano played, a breath apart. He felt wonderful pressed against me, solid and strong; he was light on his feet and moved with a true dancer’s grace. I pressed my cheek against his and sighed softly. 

_I could get used to this,_ I thought.

The song ended and another began, but we kept dancing, moving together as if we’d been doing it for years. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d danced like this. I felt myself relax and let go of some of my control; his thoughts filled my head. They weren’t focused, just vague notions of warmth and contentment. They washed over me, filling an empty place I hadn’t known was empty. It was nearly overwhelming.

I pulled back so I could look into his eyes; they were so blue, his pupils were dilated, large and bright. 

“Take me upstairs,” I said softly.

He didn’t have to be told twice.

***

We should have been asleep, sated into exhaustion, but we were awake, lying face to face. I traced his lips, his jaw, up his cheek, across his eyebrows and back down, lingering over the scars I could see up close. His hand rested on my hip, languidly rubbing circles.

“You’ve got so many scars,” I said, fingering one on his chin.

“Yeah.”

I could feel his body tense slightly.

“From what you and Beck used to do?”

“Kinda.” He sighed.

He was being very evasive and I knew he didn’t want to talk about it, but I pushed anyway.

“Sorry if I’m being nosy,” I said, resting my hand on his shoulder.

“Nah,” he said, “it’s okay. Beck and I were what you might call retrieval specialists.”

“Like somebody loses something and you retrieve it?” I knew there had to be more to it than that.

“Not exactly.” He sat up, fluffed the pillows and leaned back against them. “Say you buy somethin’, now it may or may not be legal, but you pay for it and then you don’t get it. You would hire someone like me to retrieve it. By any means necessary.”

“Any means... beating someone up?”

“Whatever it takes to fulfil the contract.”

I sat up, pulling the sheet up to cover my breasts, nodding in understanding.

“Now, sometimes it’s not a retrieval, sometimes it’s deliverin’ a package. Or escortin’ someone. Or guardin’ someone."

“Was it dangerous?”

“Sometimes, but I could handle it.” He shrugged.

“You have a lot of scars to show for ‘handling it’,” I said, frowning.

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“So you and Beck retrieved something together?”

“Nah, you don’t usually need two guys like us on the same job,” he clarified.

“But you’re friends?”

He nodded. “We met a couple times in passin’, never had to work opposite sides of a job, and we shared a love of food.”

“He wants you to cook in his kitchen.” I smiled.

“Yeah, sometimes when I’d get a little time off, I’d come to LA and spend the whole time in his kitchen.”

“Did I keep you from that?”

“No, I didn’t have a plan when I came to L.A.,” he explained. “It was just the next flight out. I really thought I’d end up somewhere... I dunno, somewhere I could breathe. Maybe do some fishing.”

His feelings drifted over me, and I could imagine him under blue skies, the sun, hot and bright, beating down on him. A sense of peace swept through me.

“We could do that,” I said, grabbing his hand.

“Do what?”

“There’s nothing keeping us here, is there?” I asked him. “I don’t have to be anywhere for another week, what about you?”

“I’ll get a call to let me know when, but probably not ‘til the end of week,” he said slowly.

“Let’s do it!” I said enthusiastically.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“Let’s rent a car and drive. We’ll just see where the road takes us.”

“Are you serious?” I could tell he was starting to like the idea.

“Yeah, why not? We’ll go north or east, just flip a coin when we hit a crossroads.”

“Heads Carolina, tails California?” he asked, and I felt like he was laughing at me, but it was a good feeling.

“Something like that.”

He stared at me, his eyes unreadable. I decisively chose to stay out of his head. I wanted this, but I wanted him to want this as well, and I didn’t want to influence him any more than I already had.

He seemed to think about it a long time, and I wondered what was going through his head. I hated not knowing the answer to a question before I asked it, hated being off-guard and vulnerable. But as I waited for him to decide, as I stared into the deep blue of his eyes, I found the unknown very appealing.

I thought I would burst when he finally seemed to decide. He took my hand and squeezed it. I imagined I could feel his regret.

“Let’s do it!”

The end.


End file.
